


The Case of the Missing Romantic

by FixaIdea



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, gay ace Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7012414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FixaIdea/pseuds/FixaIdea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following a disproportionately harsh rejection from the girl of his dreams Jehan disappears for days. After finding him in a worrying state Enjolras (famous expert on all things romantic, as we know) now has to try and piece his heart back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Missing Romantic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Tumblr prompt.

Enjolras was worried – Jean Prouvaire has been missing for days. At first no one thought any of it, Jehan was, after all, a known Romantic, bound to pull strange stunts and wander off for a couple of days every now and then. Therefore no one was particularly alarmed until Courfeyrac mentioned a rumour he’d heard.

Apparently Prouvaire, bashful lover of Love, timid composer of love poems who usually admired the fairer sex from afar mustered the courage to actually talk to the girl of his dreams in person. And had been brutally rejected.

Now this was sufficient cause for worry. Jehan was a sensitive soul, it was entirely likely that he’s been neglecting himself since the incident at best, contemplating doing something way more drastic at worst. After consulting Bahorel about the poet’s favourite haunts Combeferre and Enjolras quickly divided the core members of Les Amis into search parties. Even Grantaire proved to be useful. He’d offered, uncharacteristically seriously, to investigate the opium dens of Paris and, to the others’ general surprise had actually reported back dutifully but sadly negatively.

Bigger and smaller cemeteries, parks, the catacombs, various theatres, the roof of the building he lived in, his favourite cafés, they had a man for all.

Enjolras himself looked over the Père Lachaise cemetery and, not having found Jehan there, moved on to the Northern bank of the Seine. The light was fading and while he wasn’t about to give up until he’d thoroughly investigated his assigned territory he held no real hope for finding his friend.

The fact that it has started to rain didn’t help at all. Soaked, grumpy and worried sick he trudged along the quay, internally cursing the weather, the girl and Jehan too. He was about to give in to the fading light and go home to fetch a lamp when he finally spotted something.

Underneath him, half hidden by the angles of the stairs that led down to the water sat a solitary figure. All Enjolras could see from where he stood were his shoes and part of his legs, but it was certainly worth a closer look. He quickly but quietly descended the stairs, careful not to startle the lonely figure.

It really was Jehan. Bleak, dishevelled and wet, but alive and in one piece. He was staring out at the water with glassy eyes. Enjolras kneeled down beside him.

‘Jehan?’

No answer.

‘Jehan can you hear me?’ he gingerly reached out and touched the poet’s elbow. He winced and blinked at that, but didn’t turn to look at Enjolras.

‘Come my friend’ said Enjolras, taking hold of his arm and gently pulling him up ‘Time to go home.’

Jehan offered no resistance albeit his steps were shaky enough for Enjolras to stop and pull one of his arms around his shoulders and to half lead - half carry him until he finally found a carriage that would take them home. He briefly wondered what caused Jehan’s catatonic state – was it simply the heartache or some substance or another he took to take away its edge? Or was it hunger and exhaustion? Or all of these?

The carriage bounced and Jehan’s head lolled onto Enjolras’ shoulder. Enjolras’ heart clenched up. Jehan was such a brilliant, lovely person, and while melancholy came to him easily it has never been this serious before. Enjolras pulled him closer, worry and impotent rage twisting his guts. What was it about romance that could reduce good men to such a state, that had snuffed out Jehan’s beautiful light in one swift, careless, callous move? Such pointless, dull, cruel nonsense!

Thankfully before he could work himself even deeper into his fury they arrived at his own home and he had to busy himself with finding a gamin to tell Combeferre to call off the hunt, leading (or rather dragging) Jehan up to his flat, finding dry clothes for the both of them and helping the other change.

Jehan, while still slow to respond, was now at least aware of Enjolras’ presence, blinking owlishly at him. He held on to the blanket Enjolras draped over his shoulders and ate the soup that was pressed into his hands dutifully. By the time he finished it his eyes were considerably clearer and he was able to fully focus on Enjolras. He looked around, assessing his surroundings and ducked his head sheepishly.

‘Thank you, Enjolras. I… I’m sorry about… I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.’

Enjolras turned to look at him, standing over him, cocking his head to the side.

‘I do wish you would turn to one of us when you run into a problem instead of shutting yourself off like this’ he said finally ‘But needing some support is nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘But surely you must think it silly…’

‘I won’t pretend to care for romance or even to understand it, but I also can’t deny the hold it has on others. Surely you remember the time Joly and Musichetta fought? All his health related antics aside it takes a lot to truly rattle him. I’ve never seen him cry before, or ever since.’

Jehan nodded slowly.

‘Still, I apologise. I… It just felt like I… Like I didn’t matter, like I never would. That if I vanished the world would just go on turning and nobody would mind or even notice…’

He couldn’t finish because by now Enjolras held him by the shoulders, staring into his eyes.

‘Don’t say that, don’t you ever say that Jean Prouvaire!’ his gaze felt like a spear, stabbing right into Jehan’s soul. He shuddered under its intensity ‘The world may go on turning, but it would do so a bleaker place, robbed of a brilliant spark of light.’

Jehan blinked up at him, eyes welling up. Deflating suddenly, Enjolras offered him a hand.

‘Come. To bed with you.’

‘I truly don’t want to intrude, I can go home, I will be all right now…’

‘Bed. Now.’

That tone allowed for no argument and so Jehan scurried off to Enjolras’ guest room without another word. After he was settled Enjolras stepped in to ask if he needed anything – and lingered awkwardly even after receiving a negative answer. He knew next to nothing about heartbreak but considering the state he first found Jehan in he wasn’t comfortable leaving the little man alone.

His decision to stay was proven right when Jehan spoke up.

‘I knew I had no real chance at winning her heart… I shouldn’t have bothered.’

Enjolras had no idea whether he was supposed to offer advice or just listen, but as he had nothing intelligent to say he opted for the latter. He stepped closer and gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed.’

‘It’s only that…’Prouvaire went on ’It gets so lonely sometimes. The ideal. No matter how much you devote yourself to it… it… Love as a concept won’t love you back. I’m not making any sense, forgive me… It’s just that…’and now he was sobbing ‘I always make a mistake of praising a lady to high heavens and… and forgetting to see a real person, Courfeyrac always tells me so. But only a real person could love me back and. And I’m tired. And lonely.’

Enjolras dropped his eyes. He sighed and reached out to tuck the covers snugly around Jehan.

‘I understand. No matter how luminous the ideal it cannot hold you in an embrace or kiss you good morning.’

‘That’s it, exactly. I just. Want that. What you just said. To hold someone, to share a bed with someone… To-to put my head on someone’s lap.’

‘I can do that.’

The words were out before he could even think about them. Enjolras blinked. He wasn’t used to being in two minds about anything so when the various parts of his brain started screaming at each other he simply froze up. Because on one hand surely it was right to try and comfort a friend? Enjolras himself, despite his distant, aloof exterior, was a very tactile man, and he figured that a state of such profound misery called for some affection. But then Jehan was obviously yearning for the touch of a lady lover, not that of Enjolras. Well certainly Enjolras couldn’t ever become a lady but maybe he could try and…

His already scattered thoughts cut out completely when Jehan put his head on his lap. Without waiting for permission from his mind his hand moved to caress the little poet’s hair. Jehan sighed contentedly and turned to nuzzle into Enjolras’ belly.

‘You’re a good man. A good friend.’

Despite everything Enjolras’ heart sang at that. He didn’t have many insecurities and none he would admit to out loud, but in his heart of hearts he always harboured some amount of worry that his difficulties at vocalising softer emotions, no matter how strongly he actually felt them, would one day drive his friends away. That they would see him as nothing but a comrade, a fellow soldier. He would make peace with it, because after all the Revolution was by far more important than his lonely little heart, but he would still hate it. And so every tiny affirmation that the rest of Les Amis actually loved him left him warm and glowing with happiness.

He looked down at the now sleeping Jehan, brushing his hair back. His soul would need some patching up, but surely with the help of Courfeyrac and Bahorel he’ll get better. Maybe not soon, but someday.

Enjolras huffed, cradling the other close with a resolute expression. He was no great mender of broken hearts but he could make sure no further harm came to him. And if anyone dared to hurt him ever again they’d have Enjolras to answer to.


End file.
